violet sighted love
by magicsprite
Summary: This is a fanfic on The Thief Lord. It's a bit of a ProsperOC romance. Bad, Bad and terrible pasts in this one.
1. Sword Threats

Disclaimer: Quite sadly, none of the original characters of the Thief Lord belong to me. *sigh* All characters except Aurora are property of Cornelia Funke.  
  
Violet Sighted Love  
  
Chapter One  
  
Five years had passed since the faithful night in which Scipio Massimo had taken his aging ride on the Merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters. As he thought back to the night, Scipio shifted the position of his feet on the ottoman in the office of Victor Getz. A new name had appeared under the gold-painted sign that hung on the detective's door; it was his own, or a version of his own in any way. After running away, Scipio knew that he couldn't keep his surname, and in honor of the closest friend he ever had, took the boy's name and converted the language to form his new last name, Fortunato. His friend was Prosper, a runaway who was trying to keep his five-year-old brother out of his Aunt Esther's custody. Prosper and his brother, Boniface (who went by Bo for short), had stowed away on various trains and boats from Hamburg, Germany, all of the way to Venice, where they currently lived, happy, and without any Aunt Esther.   
  
Scipio looked out the window. As junior detective in training to Victor Getz, he was the one who did the dirty work. This morning alone he had to follow a young lady who was the main suspect of a dog napping from her appointment at a local hair salon. It still never failed to amaze him where Victor got the information on where his suspects spent there spare time.   
  
He was just standing up to get to work when Victor himself burst into the room, looking pale and exasperated.   
  
"I thought running around like an idiot was my job," Scipio said smugly. He was tall, standing at 6'5 and was about twenty-seven years old. The biggest problem with the merry-go-round was the fact that Scipio no longer knew his own exact age.  
  
"Never mind that now!" Victor exclaimed through ragged breaths. "Ida Spavento has just passed, and the gang has no where to go! She left the house to them, but Prosper's the oldest and he's only seventeen! Venetian law says that 'no person under the age of eighteen--'"  
  
"...can own property," finished Scipio, comprehension dawning on his anguished face. The "gang" that Victor was referring to were the orphans that had lived with Ida Spavento since the beginning of their friendship over a business deal five years ago. The gang consisted of Prosper, who had become the leader since Scipio had grown up. Prosper was tall, thin and gangling, with dark, black hair, and hazel eyes. Bo was Prosper's younger, ten-year-old brother. He had short, grey-blond hair that suited his tiny frame and blue eyes. The only girl of the group was Caterina Grimani and could punch out any boy who called her by her real name. She more commonly was known as Hornet, for she wore her dark hair in a long, thin braid that looked like the stinger of a wasp. Hornet had a thin frame, but over the years had grown shapely hips and an hourglass figure. She was the second oldest at sixteen. Riccio was the oddest of the group. Even though he was almost fifteen years old, he still slept with a plethora of old, thread bare stuffed animals. Riccio was very short- the same height as Bo- and had mud-brown hair that stuck out at all angles and gave him his nickname, the hedgehog.  
  
Scipio sighed deeply as he thought of the awful predicament his friends were in. "What has the Carabinieri decided to do with them?" he asked wearily.  
  
"They will all be sent to the Merciful Sisters' orphanage. When Prosper comes of age, he will inherit the house, but will only be able to become the legal guardian of Bo. The others will have to stay in the orphanage until they are old enough to get out," Victor responded in a monotone voice.  
  
"There's got to be something we can do!" Scipio spat out the words with more hope than he felt. He went over all of the times that the gang had gotten out of trouble in the past. Prosper and he had recently avoided dismemberment from two musclebound mastiffs. They had tricked Prosper and Bo's Aunt out of wanting Bo, and then kept him out of the Merciful Sisters'. Their most recent escapade had involved getting Hornet herself out of the orphanage. Ida and Victor had dressed up as Hornet's godparents, and Ida, being a rich benefactor of the institution, had easily convinced the sisters that she would return the girl to her parents.  
  
Scipio quickly changed his thoughts. Thinking of Ida was painful. She was the only one apart from Victor who had helped the desperate children in their time of greatest need. She had housed the gang of street thieves for five long years, feeding them and keeping them out of trouble. The gang had stopped stealing only weeks after Ida had taken them in. Riccio had come home once with more money than he had left with, and had gotten scolded for the next half-hour. She then took him by his ear and made him search for the man he robbed and return the money. Riccio had been so embarrassed that he never stole again. Remembering the event almost brought a smile to Scipio's forlorn face.   
  
Victor gave a deep sigh. Looking up, Scipio saw tears sliding silently down his friend's face. Ida and Victor had finalized the affection they showed each other two years previous by going to the theater and seeing plays together every Saturday night. No one had said anything, but Scipio suspected that the two were going to get married after spying on them one night and watching the way they gazed deeply into each other's eyes before kissing in the darkened opera house.   
  
"Victor? How did she die?" Scipio asked. He tried to make his voice gentle and soft as he looked at his friend's morose face. Victor stood up. He was a very average looking man. He was about 5'9 and weighed an estimated 180 pounds. He was never overweight, but he was aging, and could no longer run around the city like he used to. 'If only the merry-go-round hadn't broken,' thought Scipio.  
  
"Heart attack," He answered. Victor's voice was higher than usual. Scipio he could tell he was using all he had to keep it from cracking. "And, no. There's nothing we can do. The kids will just have to go to the orphanage. Prosper will have less than a year to wait, then he and Bo will get out."  
  
"But what about the others!? Riccio might as well be in there an eternity! He's to impatient, he'd rather die than go anywhere confining for three years," Scipio argued. Even as he said it though, his face fell. He knew it was no use and that Victor was right. "Well," he stated dully, all hopes dashed, "we better get over there and see what we can do." Scipio stood up and pulled on his coat. "You coming?" Victor still sat resignedly in the chintz armchair he had fallen into not ten minutes earlier.  
  
"No, you go alone. Console the gang and try to show them the good side of all this," Victor was still staring at the carpet.  
  
"Sure. You take care, Victor. And," he lowered his voice comfortingly, "I'm sorry." Scipio turned on his heel and strode out the door, not waiting for a response.  
  
A lone girl stood on the Ponte Vecchio bridge, hanging her head over the rail, looking down into the waters of the grand canal. The girl's thigh length ebony colored hair toppled over the edge of the bridge in a fluid curtain. She looked up placidly, sweeping the black curls over her shoulder. It was August, and there were already chill winds that blew around her shins that were exposed by the hem of her knee length skirt. Hugging her coat tighter around her she looked back into the water. Gazing back out of the darkened waters was a stunningly pretty girl, with the palest skin imaginable. She had a softly curved figure and a wonderfully thin body. Her nose was small and her eyes were perfectly spaced. But it wasn't the space between her eyes that was her best feature, it was the eyes themselves. They were a deep, stunning violet, the color of the Northern Lights at midnight, and had long, dark lashes that fluttered over the purple irises like cirrus clouds.   
  
It was from these eyes that her mother, a Canadian, named her. Every night her mother viewed the Aurora Borealis, and every night she dreamed of the beautiful color they formed at exactly midnight. And it was on the night of the girl's birth that her mother looked out the window, and upon seeing the soft shades of pink and green turning to the harsh violet streaks, she gave birth. To her ecstasy, she found that her new-born daughter's eyes were the same, voluminous color, and in the honor of the magical lights, named her first born Aurora. Aurora Winthair.   
  
Aurora started as someone bumped into her. In a fraction of a second she had drawn the long, sharp rapier that had hung at her side since the age of seven.   
  
"Give me back my wallet," Aurora felt her throat tighten as she pointed the sword at the throat of the boy who had just robbed her. He had spiny-like brown hair, and a now terrified face.  
  
"Now look hear," he said nervously. "I didn't mean any harm, honest! I'm poor and need money," he said nervously, but nonetheless flung the wallet at her feet. Aurora sheathed her sword and picked up her small purse. The hedgehog-like boy was already running, but was stopped short by a handsome boy with dark hair.  
  
"Oh, and where are you going, Riccio?" The boy asked sternly. Aurora looked at him and grinned.  
  
"Running from me, I presume," Aurora said with a glint in her eyes. "He just relieved of my wallet, and I was ready to relieve him of his head if he didn't return it," she said, bemused. "I've got to go, if you see me again, say hi, I might tell you my name." Aurora smiled, and trotted off, the sound of the handsome boy's deep voice chiding the thief in the distance.   
  
  
  
Scipio ran the last few steps into the Campo Santa Margherita, where Ida's house resided and gasped at what he saw. Excluding a few, lone Carabinieri, the small square was completely empty. No children were in sight. 


	2. A Bit of Old Cake

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this would there be a need for a disclaimer? Honestly. All characters except for the Winthairs property of Cornelia Funke.  
  
Violet Sighted Love  
  
Chapter Two  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Aurora walked the streets of Venice wondering what to do, the memory of the little thief still in her mind. I've never seen someone so nervy, she thought. Like he couldn't see my sword, how dare he!? Aurora continued to berate herself. Aurora had grown up tutored in the art of sword-craft, and considered herself one of the best. No one had challenged her in years, and the fact that a common thief managed to miff her considerably infuriated her. If she had a fault in her life, it was her arrogance. Her mother had always said that she had inherited it from her father, and that it had gotten him killed. Determined not to be skewered with a sword as her father had, Aurora trained. Half of her life was spent fencing, dodging, and charging at her tutor with various blades.   
  
Turnus Winthair had been a bold, old-fashioned warrior. He was a member of the Italian mafia, and more often then not a truly evil man. He had married his wife with the only intention of having a child to take over the family "business." He was conniving and had a malevolent intelligence at his disposal, two things that had saved his life at many a time, but ultimately had not kept him alive. These traits had been passed down to Aurora, and she at times couldn't decide whether she loved or hated them. Turnus had been furious at the birth of his firstborn- a measly girl. He had been hoping for a boy -girls couldn't do anything fighting-wise and Aurora's birth had been a major disappointment in his eyes. So Aurora grew up unloved, except for her mother, who cherished her and called her, "My miracle baby".   
  
Although her mother's love helped, all Aurora ever really felt was the thirst to prove her-self to her father (hence the sword-lessons).  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Flash-Back: 1999.  
  
Aurora had been sparring hard for hours, her new leveling up to a sensei level with her steel katana (A/n: Sorry, can't spell) blade fresh on her roster of skills, and was eager to show the one man in her life her skills. Turnus walked into the room, his own blade hanging in a scabbard over his back, and a Japanese-style headband on his forehead.   
  
"Well, girl," Turnus said in his usual arrogant drawl. "Your teacher says there are things you are ready to show me," Turnus sucked his teeth, and glanced at his nails. "You may spar against me, if you still think yourself worthy?" Turnus glanced up, and stared at his wilting daughter through hard, grey eyes.  
  
"Yes, Father," Aurora answered him lamely. She had wanted to show him her skills against her teacher, who she could now defeat; she had never thought that she would joust with Turnus Winthair himself. But this was her only chance to show him she wasn't useless, she had to try! "I believe I may do better this time. My teacher deems me at sensei level, sir." It was always this way when Turnus conversed with his daughter– he demanded it. Any disrespect and she was whipped and made to do chores for the daywith the servants.  
  
"Very well," Turnus grunted and unsheathed his sword before charging his now firm-standing daughter. Turnus lifted his blade and swiftly brought it down over his daughter's head, but she was ready; Aurora quickly lifted her own, shorter blade and blocked her father's blow. Turnus was forty-three, and much stronger. It took little effort for the bigger man to shove the nine-year-old to the ground. Aurora clung to her sword, trying to fight him off, but eventually lost her strength, and dropped the blade. It was then that Turnus drew blood. With a simple flick of his wrist, he tore a deep nick in poor Aurora's cheek, then turned and left the room, leaving Aurora to tend her wound alone.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Aurora continued to wander aimlessly in the streets, not knowing what she was looking for, but knowing she couldn't stop. Lifting her arm to her left cheek, Aurora gingerly traced the thin, white scar that now marred her once flawless face. She sighed, and moved on.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Scipio raced down the Campa Santa Margherita, checking every alley-way and behind every paper-stack. The gang was nowhere. He ran up to the Caribinieri, panting and out of breath.  
  
"Have you, did you see a group of children come through her?" Scipio was desperate, he could hear the panic in his voice, and felt the sweat running down his face,  
  
"Dottore Massimo! Sir, please, calm yourself! This is the site of a recent death, I assure you that no one has been through the area!" Scipio didn't bother to correct them on his name, he had long become used to it, but he continued to look frantically about, searching every nook and cranny of the Campo with his eyes.  
  
"Sure," he said, his voice filled with resignation, and comprehension beginning form in his mind. Prosper had led the others away, to keep them out of the orphanage. Typical Prosper behavior, never one to lead his friends into trouble, and always the first to get them out of it. He had to find them! Where would they have gone? When Mosca left to go on a fishing trip in the Mediterranean, Riccio had moved in with everyone else, not wanting to be alone. Had they gone to Mosca's old hide-out? It was too bad that Scipio didn't even know where it was. His only hope was if Victor knew, so with dismay on his face, Scipio trudged back to the office to share the terrible news.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Prosper sighed deeply as he counted the little money they had. Desperately he had asked Riccio to steal something so they could get lunch, but he had thought that the boy would have the sense to rob someone who wasn't armed. Or dangerous. Riccio still denied the fact that he knew she had the weapon, but both Prosper and Hornet knew that Riccio had only wanted a challenge to warm himself up.  
  
Prosper thought back to the girl. He had never seen her before, meaning she was probably a tourist, but her Italian had been stunning! She was a natural. Maybe a runaway? Prosper continued to ponder the matter until Hornet punched him in the arm and pointed out that he was standing looking off into space like an idiot.  
  
"I can't believe that the sight of a single girl would faze you so! You're drooling!" Hornet was angry. Angry splotches of red had appeared on her face and neck, the way they always did when she was upset.  
  
"I am not!" Prosper exclaimed indignantly, but nevertheless turning around and wiping the spit away surreptitiously.  
  
"That wasn't any girl," Riccio said through a mouthful of cake. "Did you see the way she used that sword? She was some kind of sabre prodigy!"  
  
"Firstly," answered Prosper, "I agree. Secondly, it was a rapier, not a sabre; and thirdly, where did you get that cake?!"  
  
"I don't know, some one dropped it. It's not all bad," Riccio reasoned through the cake, "there's not much dirt, and I'm starved!" Even Bo was scared by the emphasis put on much.  
  
"Well, the amount of dirt I eat is no problem compared to what we've got to deal with now!" Riccio stuffed the rest of the dropped cake into his mouth and smiled with relish. "Well?" Prosper didn't like the look on his face. Neither did Hornet. Or Bo. "Real smart, guys. Where are we going to stay?" Hornet and Prosper looked at each other as their faces fell at the thought.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Author's note: Well, there you have it. Chappy two!! Aren't you all proud of me? I wrote this chapter at five in the morning with the inspiration given to me by first reviewer! Thanks, crystaldolphin88!! Well, you know the deal. I give you this spectacular chapter *thinks silently to herself yeah, right and laughs hysterically.* and you review!  
  
Love you all!  
  
~*~*-magic-*~*~ 


	3. Pewter frames at Night

Violet Sighted Love  
  
Chapter 3  
  
A/N: Ah, my first flame, I'm sooo proud! Some authors are annoyed by flames but I've been waiting for one. There should be some kind of right of passage you have to go through after being severely burned by such a lovely complainant. But I would like to defend myself. Kelsey Wilson, I would like you to know that Aurora is nine in her flashback, and although at first she seems very Mary-Sueish (I admit it), she does have faults; A terrible temper, is extremely conceited, and other things that will surface. I'm sorry that the first chapter was not enjoyable to you, but you've got a point! I'll try to lay off on the Disney-like scenarios. As to my other faithful reviewers, thank you! Special thanks to Johnathan G. and Crystaldolphin88, who inspired me to write this chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: this is the sad, sad point in which I must say I don't own anything. Hmm, what do I own? Let's see, a few t-shirts, a small dog, and half a bottle of blackberry jam in my fridge! Other than that, all recognizable characters and plot-lines belong to Cornelia Funke, whose name I also covet.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Scipio rushed through the streets of old Venice half-hazardly, bumping into fruit stands and old ladies out to do their shopping. Without stopping to help the most recent casualty of his recklessness up, he ran up the steps to Victor's apartment and office and burst through the door. Other than Lando and Paula, Victor's tortoises, the apartment held no one in it.  
  
"Damn," Scipio cursed under his breath, the thought of going out again in the cold prodding him annoyingly in his mind.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Prosper glanced up briefly at Riccio, he had been studying a small goose as it made its way across the canal. The question on where they were going to stay was a good one, but he had been hoping one of the others had an answer to it.  
  
"Don't know. Maybe the place where you and Mosca used to live?" It was just a suggestion, and somehow Prosper knew it was no good.  
  
"The owners tore it down in order to build a theater. Anywhere else?" Riccio looked expectantly at Prosper, whose face fell, not for the first time that day. Why did everyone always look at him? He wasn't the leader technically. Technically they didn't have a leader, but of course, since Scipio had left, Prosper had become some sort of pathetic substitute of a leader.   
  
"We'll just have to look around in the Castello. If we're lucky, we'll find something." Prosper was tired. Ida had died in the night, at around three A.M., and it had been poor Hornet who had discovered her on her way to the bathroom. After calling the police and explaining the predicament, they had run away from the house, not wanting to be caught and put in an orphanage.   
  
Prosper switched his eyes to Hornet. The ordeal had shaken her greatly, and her face was still an unusual pale color. "I know of a place," Her voice was rough and sounded unused. "It's in the Castello. Not a very pleasant place, but it will do." Hornet looked down at her feet. The place she was thinking about would never do. It was old and dusty, a place she had simply played in when she was young. The only way she still knew it existed was because she had run off the other day when Riccio insulted her. Hornet turned away from her friends and started off in the direction of the old warehouse, dimly aware of the fact that Prosper, Bo, and Riccio followed her.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Aurora looked about at her surroundings, clutching the simple kerosene lamp in her numb hands. She had been searching for hours to find a place like this, and finally stumbled across it. It was a warehouse; large and empty except for a few burlap sacks and pieces of straw. The rafters were high and supported a sagging ceiling. There were rats everywhere, their holes burrowed deeply into the wall, and the sound of them scratching made Aurora's blood to run cold.  
  
Aurora made her way over to the pile of old burlap, salvaging what she could of it to make a bed. There were few sacks that had no holes or rat droppings in them, but those that didn't Aurora took and stuffed with straw. She dragged her makeshift mattress over into a rodent-free corner, sat down, and opened the messenger bag that hung at her side. She pulled out two warm army blankets and added them to her nest. She then proceeded to take out a framed picture. Aurora glanced at it longingly. A small girl with deep, raven hair sat on the lap of a taller, prettier woman. The two were obviously related. Sitting at a metal table, tea spread before them, they both had broad grins stretching the lengths of their faces.  
  
Aurora felt the tears well up in her eyes. The elder woman was dead. She was gone forever. The only person whoever loved Aurora had died. ' I. . . won't . . . cry . . . ,' Aurora paused deliberately in her head after each word, determined not to do the thing she feared. But soon it was too much for the seventeen-year-old, and the tears flowed freely down Aurora's cheeks. She curled herself into a little ball, pulled the blankets around her, and fell asleep, hugging the picture.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Hornet led the way through the twisted streets to her childhood play area. As far as she remembered there was straw and some old potato sacks that would be decent bedding, and their coats wouldn't hurt any, and they still had the space heater hidden near the old Stella Palace Theater, and, and, and that was all. The only money they had was for their lunch at school; only enough to buy a pie. They'd have to start stealing again, and Hornet knew that Prosper would not at all agree to his little brother robbing innocent people of their spending money. Riccio would have to do all of the work, while the others ate it all up. Until they were eighteen they were doomed. The orphanage would be searching for them, so they couldn't get jobs, and how would they eat? Her thoughts ended pathetically on the final depressing note. She looked up and down the final alleyway and saw the deserted warehouse at the end of it.  
  
"This way," She said dully. She moved between the tightly squashed buildings turning sideways to get by the piles of junk. She sat down on a particularly smashed up trash can and looked at Bo, Riccio, and finally Prosper in turn. "That's it. Just an old, broken-down warehouse. It's deserted and the only place I know of to stay in."  
  
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Prosper asked expectantly, trying to make the best out of the terrible situation.  
  
"Okay, but I'm warning you, it might not be in the best of conditions."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A/n: You didn't think I'd be mean enough to end it there, would you?  
  
Prosper pushed open the door and entered the dusty old room first. Bo followed closely behind gripping Prosper's hand tightly. Riccio came after in close suit, and lastly was Hornet. They all looked around them at the cob-web ridden rafters. Rats and their remnants littered the floor, but scattered when the light from Hornet's lantern hit them. Another glowing sphere emanated from the corner, and scared them all. Prosper gestured to Hornet to snuff out the flame, and once she had done so, sneaked around the corner. There, basking in the light of a lantern, lay the sleeping body of the girl from the bridge, her fingers closed tightly around a small, pewter picture frame.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A/n:  
  
Ha ha ha ha! Don't you hate me!! I left you with a terrible cliffy, but oh well, eh? Anyways, I'd like to apologize to all of you uh.... three readers who had to wait so bloody long for a chapter! Oops. I had writer's block so it's technically not my fault, and there is also a terribly long story involving meatloaf and a lawn mower, but I'll leave that be for the minute.... Oh! And I have another story out! It's a very amusing comedy/parody on the Lord of the Rings, please check it out! And uh, this story might have the sudden urge to jump off of the cliff it's hanging on if I don't get some reviews. I'm not kidding, it's just crazy enough to do it!!  
  
~*~*-magic-*~*~   
  
? 


	4. Final Notice

This story will not be updated. Why, you may ask? Simply put, I have matured infinitely as a writer. I began writing this at the age of eleven, posting it when I was around thirteen. I am now sixteen, and seeing as my writing style and usage of words has changed drastically, continuing this story would be pointless.

To all of you who mindlessly flamed my story, I would like to thank you. You told a seventh grader that she is talent-less and incapable of writing decent literature. As I am now working on a novel and already have more than twenty original poems published, I disregard all you said, and take your petty comments as an inability to think of sensible originalities.

I do not feel the need to here point out how many actual, literary characters are "Mar-Sue-ish," as it has been put, but would instead advise the readers of this piece to find their souls. There is no need to be ruthlessly mean when a writer tried to stick to the actual author's original purpose and direction. And, if you are a college student pathetically wandering the halls of just to provoke and upset preteens, I feel shame for you, an hope you grow into the mature adult you seem to believe yourself to be.

Thank you for your time, and as always, I am appreciative of your reviews.


End file.
